I, Forgiver
A wisp of brunette hair, a shade of song,
Pacific in her slides, her curves, he saw
And looked away, he dare not speak, nor say,
If he, his mouth, opened wide? O! his heart-
He jack; then king! His queen, would leap away:
And that, he could not fear to let astray,
Asserts, in modern times, him-self he owns:
A Man- a boy- no King. No Jack. Ashamed.
A Solitude. A Study of Alone.
His angel, in his mind, at dawn, has flown.
If eyes, and light, and opening would come,
Her peace, so warm, would melt his mask of stone.
He cries: "Where dwells this sea-wreathed soul-mate who saves?!"
To keep from crying, she laughs, forgive her, dear knave.
To keep from crying, she laughs, forgive her, dear knave.
Erin Elizabeth Muir
